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<title>poetry to cope with the world by lulumonnie</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28895916">poetry to cope with the world</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/lulumonnie/pseuds/lulumonnie'>lulumonnie</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, Poetry, Prose Poem</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 09:41:53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,295</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28895916</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/lulumonnie/pseuds/lulumonnie</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>a collection of original poems</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. duty</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>it's funny when those who you thought were good</p><p>end up being not quite that at all. </p><p>it's not that they're bad and you think you can see they're trying</p><p>but at the same time you can't tell if they're honest about it or if they're just lying. </p><p> </p><p>it's funny if every phone call ends up with you fuming</p><p>and constantly doubting yourself if you're wrong in assuming. </p><p>they must just not know that criticising a child for every single thing they do </p><p>has lasting impacts that make you someone who can't get out of bed let alone put on shoes. </p><p> </p><p>some days are so bleak and fucking exhausting</p><p>you blame your parents but still you're constantly doubting </p><p>are you destroying the family, are you imagining this rift </p><p>or are you correct and what has set you adrift</p><p>in this cold cruel world has been directly constructed</p><p>by those who sook to raise you and by whom you were instructed. </p><p> </p><p>it's exhausting to think of these people who you've held in such honour </p><p>and to realise that honestly, their honour is squalor. </p><p>it's funny in a way to see how this image of adults who raised you </p><p>ends up toppling to the ground as you watch through the tears tainting your vision a grey hue.</p><p>they aren't bad people, they might have just not known </p><p>how much their words impacted the way you have grown. </p><p> </p><p>but this feeling of anger of disappointment inside </p><p>is so ever present that it's impossible to hide. </p><p>impossible to hide and impossible to forget </p><p>because every conversation makes you regret</p><p>not realising sooner why you were you </p><p>why talking and arguing and crying too</p><p>have always been things you struggled with</p><p>because those around the young you didn't know shit </p><p>about how to deal with conflicts, how to resolve them </p><p>so now you sit there twiddling with the hem</p><p>of your oversized sweater that you wear</p><p>since your parents told you to swear </p><p>to be perfect and thin and beautiful</p><p>well mom and dad, I guess you didn't raise me dutiful</p><p> </p><p>I'm not perfect, I'm not thin and I don't fit your idea of beauty </p><p>but I am me in this fucked up world and that is my only duty.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. I'm (not) a Woman</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I'm a woman in the same way I'm straight</p><p>I woke up one day and I realised I could relate </p><p>to other girls describing a male classmate as cute </p><p>but it took me a while to realise and to compute</p><p>that honestly, girls were just as cute. </p><p> </p><p>I'm a woman in the same way I'm a Christian </p><p>I was born into it and if there was service I mostly missed them. </p><p>I celebrate some holidays for the sake of tradition </p><p>but everyone around me knows that my mission </p><p>has never been being especially Christian. </p><p> </p><p>I'm a woman the same way I'm a man </p><p>not really either, not sure where I stand </p><p>I don't hate the word woman, don't feel delighted </p><p>if anyone uses it go describe me I'm not... slighted. </p><p>but still it's not right and neither is male </p><p>because I'm somewhere in the middle of this tale</p><p>...not really a woman but not really not one </p><p>if you're confused, I understand, join me in the fun</p><p>of not knowing who you are, of being so uncertain </p><p>for some people their gender may jusy be hidden behind a curtain </p><p>but mine is complex and I have no clue how to see</p><p>what exactly I am, what makes me me. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>gender is weird lmao</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. family</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>when i was a kid I was taught that family was everything. </p><p>that no matter who your friends are, family is the last thing </p><p>the last pillar that holds you up when you're down </p><p>the last people to turn to when the world is drown'd. </p><p> </p><p>but as I grew older I realised with horror </p><p>that I was alone in this world of terror</p><p>that those fancy tales of blood is thicker than water</p><p>were just tales, nothing more than lies and barter. </p><p> </p><p>the barter of parents who don't know their children </p><p>the lies of adults to keep their kids in their den</p><p>showing them off like pet monkeys in a circus </p><p>come little monkey, show them your tricks, that's your purpose. </p><p> </p><p>family is everything, but not in the way you expect: </p><p>your family aren't those who you can detect</p><p>when looking at forms and your birth certificate </p><p>or those who claim to know you even if they know squat. </p><p> </p><p>no, family, true family are those people who matter </p><p>those people who make your skewed perceptions of love shatter </p><p>the people that gather you close to their heart </p><p>when the cries of the world give you a start</p><p>the people who hold close you while you're crying </p><p>the people who support you when you're up and flying. </p><p>the people who teach you how to speak up </p><p>the people who love you and will not stop. </p><p> </p><p>family are those who you choose to be with </p><p>the ones that help you become the smith</p><p>that forges the person you are deep inside </p><p>a person defined by the fire that scorched their hide</p><p>family is not blood or some silly notion </p><p>that just because you're born you owe someone devotion </p><p> </p><p>family is everything but not in the old sense </p><p>family can be everything, any presence </p><p>that makes you feel at home and at ease, </p><p>so go out and find those you love and then seize</p><p>the opportunity to find where you truly belong </p><p>and finally find where your soul can join someone else's song.</p><p>in the end, real family are who you choose to surround yourself with</p><p>not always those who happened to present at the time of your birth. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>'my child is fine' - your child's favourite trope is found family </p><p>anyway I dedicate this to my own found family bc of course I do ily abrift weirdos</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. cogs</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>depression amiright folks</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>am i good enough?</p><p>will i ever be?</p><p>what if i'm not especially tough?</p><p>what if they'll never see</p><p> </p><p>that i'm trying, i'm trying, i'm trying so hard,</p><p>so hard to be good, to be right, to be true</p><p>to myself, to my friends so that i'm not just a part, </p><p>not just a cog in a machine of pain so blue,</p><p>it suffocates me in everything i do. </p><p> </p><p>this ever present rattling of the wheels turning, </p><p>is impossible to escape without help.</p><p>the oppressive presence of the cogs churning, </p><p>grasps my heart and leaves it nigh on dead. </p><p> </p><p>but no matter how many times the smoke leaves me breathless, </p><p>not matter how much the machine might knock me to my knees, </p><p>there will always be those who give me their hand regardless, </p><p>who will smile and help me to my feet. </p><p> </p><p>alone, the machine is a death sentence, a heartless executioner of cruel will. </p><p>but when one cog is removed by a friendly face </p><p>the machine stops, unable to keep hurting me still. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. first</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>what do you mean you don't write poems about your dnd character's dead husband?</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>there are questions swirling around in my head</p>
<p>questions without answer, filled with dread</p>
<p>I want to scream at the top of my lungs</p>
<p>let the world know how all the arrows they've strung</p>
<p>to finally rid me of the one thing thats good</p>
<p>the one thing thats just and the one thing that's stood</p>
<p>unequivocally by my side through the worst of the worst</p>
<p>have hit their mark and have killed the first.</p>
<p>the first person I loved, and the last.</p>
<p>the first person to give me a future, a present, a past.</p>
<p>the first person to truly know me and still call me love</p>
<p>the first person I truly knew and called love. </p>
<p>cruel world, you've succeeded in taking away </p>
<p>the most beautiful soul to grace this lonely grey.</p>
<p>this colourless void that we call our world</p>
<p>experienced joy for a moment and its blossoms unfurled</p>
<p>before the growth was stumped and the arrow hit its mark</p>
<p>and there were no more birds joyfully twittering in the abandoned park.</p>
  </div></div>
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